


Love, Cross-Dressing

by FallenAngel184



Series: Love, Cross-Dressing [1]
Category: Love Simon (2018), Love Victor (TV 2020), Simonverse | Creekwood Series - Becky Albertalli
Genre: Crossdressing, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:35:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27286531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FallenAngel184/pseuds/FallenAngel184
Summary: In which Simon has a panic attack about wearing a dress, but he also has Bram and some awesome roommates to help him through it.Alternate title:Simon vs. Facing His Own Repressed Feelings About Cross-Dressing
Relationships: Bram Greenfeld/Simon Spier
Series: Love, Cross-Dressing [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1992340
Comments: 15
Kudos: 46





	Love, Cross-Dressing

**Author's Note:**

> This exists because I re-read/re-watched everything from the entire Simonverse in the span of two days and was inspired to write fic for the first time in like over a year all because of THIS QUOTE:
> 
> _“I haven’t forgotten the feeling of silk and air against my legs… There’s just something kind of mortifying to me about the intensity of those feelings. I remember them so clearly. I can’t even stomach the idea of cross-dressing now. I don’t even like to think about it too much. A lot of the time, I can’t believe that was me.” (Simon vs, p. 65-66)_
> 
> I mean… fuck.
> 
> So anyway this is a story based on _Simon vs._ and _Love, Creekwood_ , but I have stolen from _Love, Simon_ and _Love, Victor_ , which is why they’re listed too— only thing from the movie is Bram’s Halloween costume because it just fit, and of COURSE I had to steal these boys’ beautiful perfect roommates from the Hulu show because they are my everything and that hug they gave Victor?? Destroyed me, and I used it as a bit of inspiration for this fic <3
> 
> Happy Halloween, enjoy this mess lol

I’m taking a bite out of a chocolate chip Eggo when the thought hits me: I’m the luckiest guy in the world.

I also happen to be staring at Bram’s face as he laughs, but I’m sure that’s unrelated.

I’m kidding, it’s completely related. It’s basically the whole reason.

I guess I’m smiling really dopily, because Justin turns away from his omelet and kicks my ankle.

“Simon, honey, have you thought about your Halloween costume for this year yet? It’s in just a few weeks, you know.” His eyes are twinkling, so I’m pretty sure he’s about to suggest some sort of dumb, cheesy couples costume for me and Bram that we would never actually go for, and I’m quick to cut him off.

“I’ll be something simple and badass, like I always am,” I joke, sharing a look with Bram, who smiles into his eggs at the reference.

“Ok that’s way too broad a category, but whatever,” Justin waves a hand at me. “Anyway, _nothing_ can be as simple and badass as my Britney look last year. Five words: oops, I, did, it, again. Had to beat the boys off with a stick, right Ivy?”

“The skintight red bodysuit _was_ a great look,” Ivy admits, and Justin looks victoriously over at me.

“I had the most _perfect_ blonde wig also,” he gushes to me. “Kim knows this one drag queen who, I swear to god, is a fucking wizard when it comes to wig styling. She also lent me some heels straight out of _Kinky Boots_. Not exactly music video-accurate, but it was hot as fuck so whatever.”

“Wow.” The picture has been painted for me, and damn is it vivid. I don’t doubt he absolutely rocked it, though. Justin could work a paper bag as long as he could glue some glitter onto it. “I don’t know if _Kinky Boots_ heels count as simple? But badass for sure.”

“Nonsense, Si, it was only heels, a bodysuit, and a wig, that’s definitely simple,” Justin dismisses me, and I laugh, acquiescing.

“So what were you and Simon last year?” Kim asks Bram.

“Well, we were in different states for Halloween, so no couples costumes,” he jokes, and I smile at him as I realize that this time we actually _could_ go as something super lame and cheesy, because we _are_ in the same place this year. “I went as post-presidency Barack Obama, so basically just a Hawaiian shirt and a lei I found in a thrift shop. Simon was going to be a very lame, striped-shirt bank robber—”

“Hey!” I put up a token protest, but I was the one who told him it was lame, so I know I can’t really say anything.

“—but,” Bram continues, laughing at me like the terrible (lovely, perfect, amazing) boyfriend he is, “someone lent him a tutu and he became Billy Elliot at like, the very last second.”

I nod in agreement, about to respond, but Justin is already talking.

“Those are _such_ college freshman costumes, you absolute children, I love you,” he coos, patting us both on the head and receiving matching half-hearted glares in return. “Me and this guy I was seeing sophomore year went as Thelma and Louise. I had to do makeup for the both of us, he’d never been in drag before, poor baby. He kept flinching anytime I went anywhere close to his eyes, the mascara was a nightmare. By the end of it, he looked more like Katya from her _Velma and Weezy_ Drag Race zombie bit.”

“That’s why I’ve never done my own stage makeup,” I wince in sympathy and shake my head, reminded that I should be forever grateful for all the makeup artists who’ve made sure I don’t poke my own eyes out with an eyeliner pencil.

“Oh, of course, theater means stage makeup!” Justin exclaims, hand over his heart. “Does that mean you’ve done some kind of baby high school drag, Simon?”

He looks so excited, I almost don’t notice the giant pit slowly forming in my stomach. I take a bite of my Eggo and stutter out a “no” with a weird half-laugh, half-choking sound that I just _know_ is going to put Bram on red-alert.

Fuck, I’m starting to sweat. The Eggo feels like soggy cardboard in my mouth. Oh no.

Justin, meanwhile, is already scrolling through his phone looking for something, he’s saying something, what is he saying, why do I feel like I’m in a tunnel? I’m still sweating.

“I would _love_ to make you over, oh my god! You and Bram could be… I don’t know, Sonny and Cher or something, I’m positive I have a dress that would fit you Simon, it’s knee-length, silky, you’d look amazing in it—”

I can actually, literally feel myself getting paler with every word out of Justin’s mouth. All I can think is I am so glad Ivy and Kim are more focused on their breakfasts than on the conversation, and Justin is looking through his camera roll for a picture of this, god, _silky_ dress, because I feel like throwing up, and the Eggo is still in my mouth for some reason, why can I not chew? I realize all of a sudden that I’ve dropped the rest of the waffle, and I can’t seem to raise my eyes above the plate even as I push myself to move my frozen jaw enough to force down the hunk of toasted pastry still trapped in my mouth. As I carry out the most difficult swallow in my entire life, I am abruptly incredibly conscious of Bram and his beautiful eyes, that are absolutely looking directly into my soul with the deepest concern, because he is a fucking amazing, observant person who notices things like his boyfriend slowly choking on an Eggo in front of him. I have a sudden epiphany that I cannot, under any circumstances, have him say anything in front of these amazing, queer as fuck people who can think about wearing dresses without having a panic attack, so I stutter out the first thing that comes into my brain.

“I- I don’t know, it’s not really my… thing… _have to pee be right back_.”

The last part rushes out of me in one breath and I practically bolt from the table, only vaguely aware through the rushing in my ears of Justin asking if I’m ok.

I do head for the bathroom, but I definitely don’t have to pee. Once I’m in there, I realize that I should have gone for mine and Bram’s room, because we live in a shitty, rundown apartment in Brooklyn and our bathroom door doesn’t. fucking. lock. Because of course it doesn’t. So I just shove the door closed as quietly as I can when my hands are shaking like leaves in the wind, and I cross the tiny square footage to the sink, where I grip the edge so tightly I think my bones— or the sink— may actually crack, and my knuckles are whiter than I’ve ever seen my skin. I try to think, to process, but all I can hear is buzzing, and I don’t know how long I stand there, staring at my own bone-white knuckles while my knees tremble against the cabinet and the static in my ears only increases in volume… but then I hear a knock on the door, and I know it’s Bram.

And Bram is safe.

Bram is amazing, and he knows me, and he loves me, and I let my fingers relax from their claw-like grip on the porcelain so I can go open the door for my boyfriend, because he would never open the door without my permission, because Bram is considerate like that.

And Bram is safe.

So I open the door, and Bram takes one look at my face and says, “Oh, darling,” and I just… break.

I fall into his arms, sobbing, of course, and I can feel him shift us further inside the bathroom so he can shut the door behind us and pull us both down to sit on the tile, but it’s almost like I’m experiencing everything underwater and in slow motion. The only thing grounding me is Bram’s strong arms, his voice murmuring words I can’t parse into my hair, the soft sweeping motions of his hands up and down my back. I’m not sure how long we sit there. I focus all my energy on those hands.

And then, suddenly, all I can think of is one thing, one stupid thing, and I have to tell Bram about it because if I don’t, I think the words about to spill out of my mouth may actually poison me and/or cause me to spontaneously combust. So I pull away slightly, grateful that Bram seems like he doesn’t want to let me go, but allows me some space anyway. I sit cross-legged in front of him, our knees touching, suck in a deep breath to try to calm my crying, and—

“Do you remember Gender Bender Day at Creekwood?”

I can tell this out-of-the-blue statement surprises Bram, because all he says is a soft, confused, “… yeah? Why?” He doesn’t pull away though, he wouldn’t, and he’s still making sweeping motions with his hands, now on my knee instead of my back, like he knows it’s the only thing keeping me from devolving into a blubbering mess again.

It makes me feel brave.

So, I open my mouth and begin spilling my guts absolutely everywhere, with no regard for how I’m going to clean it up later.

“I lied to Justin. I have done drag. I mean, sort of, I used to dress up as a girl every Halloween,” my ramble starts, “like seriously, every Halloween when I was kid, I would look forward to it all year, it was like Christmas for me, it was so… special, I guess? It really _meant_ something. And at some point, like middle school maybe, I just stopped, it got too real, like, the feelings around it were so intense, and personal, and I guess I was realizing sexuality stuff around then too so I put away the girl costume and started doing the simple-and-badass thing. Which I still love! Honestly, but it also definitely started as kind of an excuse to not have to think about what I used to do every year for Halloween, because whenever I think about it I feel _awful_ , and I don’t even know _why_ , but I always only half-assed Gender Bender Day because of that, I could _never_ do what you and Nick could and wear those cheerleader uniforms, fuck. I just did the bare minimum so no one would question me or anything—”

I can tell I’m babbling at this point, and even though Bram’s hand is still steadily, comfortingly stroking my knee, more tears well up and my voice shakes and I can’t look Bram in the eye, so I just… keep talking.

“I don’t know why I can’t _do_ it anymore, Bram,” I manage to gasp out, “I can’t even think about it! Justin is so good at embracing who he is even with all his religion stuff, my family’s barely religious at all! And Kim is so amazing at expressing themself, and staying true to their identity when people are so shitty to them all the time, and even Ivy has her own stuff she does, and it’s like, I want to, god, I want to _so badly_ , Bram, but I just…” I trail off with a shaky, choking breath, glancing up just in time to make contact with the saddest eyes I’ve ever seen Bram make, and quietly finish, “I _can’t_.”

And Bram just whispers, “Baby, come here,” and pulls me into his arms again.

So, of course, I start crying again, all my tears and snot dripping onto his sweater as our legs cramp up on the gross bathroom floor. And part of me, the part that’s not sobbing into my boyfriend’s shoulder, is honestly _angry_. I thought I was over all the angst bullshit, especially once I transferred to NYU to be near Bram, and the long distance stress was over, and I still keep in touch with Kellan and Grover and all my other friends from Haverford, and here I have Justin and Kim and Ivy… I even _fucking_ wore a goddamn tutu for Halloween last year! I thought I was fine, more than fine, I _love_ my life right now… but there’s also _this_. And _this_ , means I’m not as fine as I thought I was, I guess, but I still don’t know what to do. _Maybe_ , I think to myself bitterly, rubbing my cheek against Bram’s upper arm (and wonderful muscles), _being around people who actually embrace this part of themselves so fully is making me finally face this issue I’ve been pushing down since I was ten. Yeah, Simon, you dumbass, that makes some sense. Wow._

Bram must have some kind of sixth sense for when I’m being mean to myself, though, because as I’m berating myself inside my own head, he gently maneuvers us so our foreheads are pressed together, and uses the sleeve of his sweater to gently wipe away my slowly fading tears.

“The answer can be no,” he starts softly, “but can I go get Kim and Justin? I’ll always be here for you, Simon, I promise, but I really think they’ll be able to help you in ways that I can’t, and baby, you _know_ they won’t judge you. You know that, you just… need to remember it.”

I know he’s right, but I’m still scared, so I hide my face in his sweater again to answer, “Can you still stay with me, though?”

“Of _course_ , darling,” he responds, pressing a kiss to the top of my head, and I let out a wheezy laugh as a memory suddenly strikes me.

“I told you we should use _darling_ after I got drunk on Halloweekend last year,” I giggle, and Bram smiles and kisses the top of my head again.

“Yes, you did, darling.” He sounds quite pleased with himself, like he used it on purpose to remind me of that connection, and it really hits me in that moment that even though I feel so messy and so out of control right now, Bram is always there for me and I just… I love him. So, _so_ much. I don’t think there are enough words in any human language for how much I feel for him, so I just wrap my arms around him and squeeze, as tightly as I can, and I know he understands.

“You can go get Justin and Kim,” I whisper. “I’m gonna wipe all the gross shit off my face, and we can sit in the living room. Also, sorry about your sweater,” I end sheepishly, unsticking myself from the fabric.

“This sweater was like fifteen dollars at Target, Si, I think it’s fine,” he whispers back, smiling softly as we climb up from the tile.

I stare at myself in the mirror as he leaves, shutting the door behind him to give me some privacy to clean up. My face is a giant mess, of course, red eyes and blotchy skin and tear tracks all over the place. Not much I can do about most of those telltale signs, but I scrub at the tears and snot until I at least look like I was crying an hour ago, instead of just five minutes. Whatever. They’ll understand, that’s… kind of Bram’s whole point, I know.

I collect myself a bit and walk out into the living room, where Kim and Justin are nervously perched on the very edge of one of our couches, Ivy is curled into a chair (she mouths “I’m moral support” at me and shoots me a tentative smile and a thumbs up, which I weakly return), and Bram has one arm draped across the back of the other couch in the room, obviously inviting me to snuggle while I talk.

I all but collapse into his waiting arms and take a moment to settle in, collecting what comfort I can from him before I jump into my explanation for Justin and Kim (and Ivy). Eventually, though, I can’t stall any longer.

“So, um,” I start, haltingly, “I used to dress up for Halloween when I was little. I mean, literally dress up, like with dresses and stuff. Wigs sometimes. All that. I… totally loved it, it was my favorite part of the entire year, but I stopped around middle school. I was starting to realize I was gay, everything kind of… got too real, I guess. Later, any time I was reminded what I used to do, I just felt really weird and uncomfortable, like that younger version of myself who loved to dress up wasn’t even me, he was a completely different person. I couldn’t connect to him, I don’t know…”

I trail off, curling tighter into Bram’s embrace and leaving the floor open for one of my roommates to jump in. Kim leans forward.

“Do you think that means your gender identity is more fluid than you let yourself consider before?” There’s no judgement or assumption in their tone, just kind, prompting curiosity, and it relaxes me enough to really consider what that would mean for me.

I think about it, but, “No,” I decide, “I’ve never wanted to be anything other than a boy. I really like being _gay_ , being a boy who likes other boys. That’s who I am.”

The proud vibes emanating from Bram by the end of my sentence are practically palpable, and I smile up at him. He kisses me briefly, and I hear happy sighs from the other couch. When I look over at them, Justin, Kim, and Ivy all unabashedly meet my gaze, chins in hands, lips puckered, eyes twinkling, all that, and I know Bram and I are both blushing. Kim comes to my rescue, though, taking pity on us and gently knocking Justin’s chin off its perch on his cupped hands, making him squawk and the rest of us laugh.

“Honestly, what I wear isn’t completely connected to my gender identity, either, Simon,” Kim continues like nothing happened, ignoring Justin’s indignant huff. “It’s not really drag either, in my case. Putting on dresses when I was younger was kind of an escape, but for me, it wasn’t about being a boy or a girl or even neither, it was about fashion. Dresses, and other feminine things to that point, made me feel pretty. I liked feeling pretty, so I wore them. Simple as that, though of course no queer person’s journey is truly simple, there’s always complicated feelings involved.”

I nod, because they’re absolutely right, and I really appreciate their perspective, but I’m also distracted, because… _pretty_. Yeah. The word kind of reverberates inside my head, and I think I might be having a bit of an epiphany about it. I think I might even whisper it under my breath, because Bram lets out an inquisitive noise and leans closer, but I wave him off for now, looking to Justin because I know he’ll have something to add as well.

“Obviously my thing is more drag than everyday fashion,” he starts, “and drag, for me, is about being free. It’s an expressiveness, it’s a protest, it’s telling the world to fuck _all_ the way off, you can’t tell me that this is wrong, because I know it’s me, and I’m not wrong.” He shrugs then, sending a half-smile my way, and I can tell that it must have taken him years to get to the point where he could say that and believe it. I think I might be getting there too, and yep, there are the tears coming right back.

“Y’all are so fucking awesome, I’m really glad we answered your craigslist ad,” I get out around my slowly closing throat, and everyone else lets out a matching watery laugh. Bram pulls me even closer to him, if that’s possible, and Kim, Justin, and Ivy all jump out of their respective seats and join us in a giant cuddle pile, everyone’s limbs ending up tangled everywhere— we absolutely cannot all fit on this couch, but it feels comfortable anyway, because Bram was right. I just had to remember I had this. So, I steel myself to say one more thing, because I _do_ have support, and I can see that now.

“I want to try that dress on, Justin. Probably not today,” I hasten to add, but he just smiles.

“That’s ok, honey,” he reassures me, sweeping my hair back off my forehead in a way that reminds me, achingly, of my mom.

And _that_ makes me say, “Maybe next weekend though,” which leads to Justin and Kim and Ivy and _Bram_ all smiling so wide that I just have to close my eyes against all that literal sunshine and cuddle closer to them, because I am so, so happy. I think of my abandoned Eggo, and how this morning already feels like a lifetime away, but I smile, because now I actually know—

I really am the luckiest guy in the world.

**Author's Note:**

> Look forward to tomorrow, on actual Halloween, when I will be posting a (steamy) sequel *side-eye emoji*


End file.
